When it comes to promoting fatherhood, Australia seems to be ahead of the curve. This weekend is the third annual Fatherhood Festival, held in Bangalow, New South Wales. The three-day festival ‘is a gathering of people and ideas, arts and activities, all with the aim to broaden, deepen, and support all dads.’
There are plenty of activities for all ages, including a photo exhibition called ‘Dads and Kids’, where kids have been asked to submit a photo of their fathers and to write about it. Last year the kids were asked to paint portraits of their dads.
There’s also the ‘Big Short’ film festival, which features locally-produced short films about fathers and families, and a panel discussion about supporting and sustaining families.
The festival culminates on Monday (Father’s Day) with a barrage of what look to be fantastic activities: motor bike show, ‘make a toolbox’ craft, ‘Paint Your Dad’s Portrait’, air rocket flying (!), martial arts display, clown workshop, and planting a rainforest tree with/for your dad. And that’s only a small sample!
I have to say, I’m more than a little jealous. What a wonderful affirmation for Australia’s fathers!
Babies scream and cry to get our attention, right? Mobile phones ring for the same reason. Martin’s mama didn’t raise no fool:
In February my daughter Julia was born. A bundle of joy…who happened to possess a serious attention-grabbing scream. To my wife’s annoyance, I made this my Ringtone. Trust me, this will wake the dead.
I kept this as my ringtone for several months, until the attention when it rang became too much.
So now I am offering this ringtone free to the public*. I call it the The Contraceptive Ringtone. Enjoy!
*Not for resale or commercial use, all rights reserved.
Once again, the Zagat Survey has ranked the Saint Louis Zoo as America’s number one zoo! The zoo also ranked among America’s top family attractions, including Disney’s Magic Kingdom and Monterey Bay Aquarium.
If you’ve never been, a trip to the Saint Louis Zoo is well worth your effort. It’s located in the city’s historic Forest Park (home of the 1904 World’s Fair), and features a Children’s Zoo, the Zooline Railroad, a Conservation Carousel with 64 hand-carved wooden animals, sea lion show, penguin and puffin exhibit, and Insectarium.
And, earlier this month, St. Louis welcomed its newest family member: Maliha, a 341-pound baby elephant. She’s the daughter of Raja, who was the first elephant born in the Saint Louis Zoo.
Did I mention that admission is free?
While I’m on the subject, you’ll have a difficult time finding anywhere more fun or affordable than St. Louis for a family vacation. Forest Park alone is worth the trip. Apart from its zoo, the park also has a science center, history museum, and a fabulous art musuem. All free.
‘For the past 12 years, Patton and a group of woodworkers have quietly crafted toys and activity kits for children at local hospitals. Other than a handful of thank you notes, they’ve received little recognition for their labor. And the vast majority have never met the children who enjoy their work.
…After delivering toys to several hospitals on a recent Tuesday, Patton walked through his Crestwood home, pointing out what he and others have made during the years. There were tugboats and sailboats, cats, cars and a helicopter. There was a mouse with a tail made from a piece of twine.
He gestured to an elaborate wooden puzzle on the bar in his basement.
“We made 20 or 30 of these one year,” he said.
On that morning, his delivery included 124 wooden airplanes, trinket boxes, mice and cats.’
The toys are delivered unfinished so that recovering children can paint them. ‘”It gives me an activity,” Patton said. “I enjoy it. . . . They [the children] need activities.”‘
I’m not quite sure where to start with this one, so I’ll let the article speak for itself.
‘…what about the good guys who get the shaft, themselves—the men who cherish being fathers, only to discover later that the children they thought were their offspring are biologically someone else’s?….in over 30 percent of paternity cases sent in for testing, the wrong man is identified as the biological father….’
‘…[he] forced the courts to update paternity laws hearkening back to King Henry VIII when, through a simple DNA test, he discovered he’d been supporting a daughter for 10 years who wasn’t his, biologically. Says Smith: “Wrongly forcing a man to pay for children he did not father can wreck his life and prevent him from being able to provide for his own family.”…’
‘…We all have a moral and legal right to know where we came from, who our blood relatives are, what our family medical history entails….’
‘…”…Out of 145 paternity disestablishments (through November) [in Orange County, California], 37 of those weren’t the biological dad” and they were relieved of their child support obligations….”A lot of people don’t ask, when really they should. It’s one of the reasons we encourage both moms and dads to get testing.”
Have nagging doubts, yourself? Request the test. It’s free. Besides, I can’t think of a better way to start a new day than to know exactly who your own children are.’
I know I’m incredibly naive about many things, but I had no idea we’d reached a point where paternity testing is now standard practice; or at least encouraged to become so.
What surprised me was that this isn’t a commentary about the need for paternity testing—or the poor decisions which lead to it. It’s simply a ‘Hey, this is a really good idea!’ This is an installment of the author’s weekly column, Single Parenthood. Would any single parents care to share their thoughts about this advice?
When all’s said and tested, there’s still a child caught in the middle.
[Update: Apparently August is National Child Support Month. Who knew, apart from Delaware?]
Stay-at-home dad Tom Morrison has produced what looks to be a wonderful five-part video series called The Daddy Survival Guide; otherwise known as How to Outsmart Your Kids.
Each video is about five minutes, and the two I’ve watched have been funnier than a bead stuck up my son’s nose. Funny, touching, and encouraging.
You can watch the entire series here, or individually on YouTube.
Though our return address says ‘St. Louis’, our small city is technically its own entity. We have a mayor, public works, and zoning commission. We also have our own police force, which is rather large for our city’s population.
There’s rarely a day when I don’t see a patrolling cruiser at least once. Very often our home is lit by the flashing red and blue of someone caught speeding, or running the stop sign at the corner. Sometimes I’ll be shaken from sleep by sirens and racing engines, but they always pass by.
I’ve yet to fear for the safety of my family. The only worry I have is that the sirens will wake Ian; during the day, he likes to watch the police cars fly down the street.
Would that we were all so blessed.
‘Suddenly, the room shook violently, and I heard the deafening sound of what I thought was a sonic boom. The curtains blew wildly as if a storm was raging outside. My first thought was to look at Mohammad. His eyes were wide open; but thank God, he didn’t jump or cry. My wife jumped up shaking; and her hand extended to cover Mohammad’s ears.’
Read more → International Middle East Media Center
We bowed our heads for the closing prayer, and Ian—being Ian—closed his eyes, reached for his cup, and decided to use the time to finish the milk we’d brought.
(People who bring their venti non-fat, mocha, double-latte, chai frappuccinos into the sanctuary have no excuse. Three year olds have no one to blame but their parents.)
Ian’s lack of attention and poor understanding of gravity means that he still uses a sippy cup if we’re anywhere but the dining room table. And as our pastor began the prayer, Ian started to drink.
With each pause, Ian breathed through his nose. With each pause, the hissing became louder and louder. I became self-conscious. God still speaks, but how could we hear him over the slurping and snorting of my son?
It seemed that, over the last week or so, I’d asked Ian to breath through his mouth quite a few times. He’d been hissing a lot lately. He wasn’t sick, but both Kelly and I have allergies; I’ve been sneezing for the past two weeks. Before we left church, I made a mental note: Allergies. Home. Benadryl.
On the way to lunch, I remembered that I’d forgotten the Benadryl.
I was sitting next to Ian, in the backseat, and he started breathing through his nose again. Hisssssss. Hisssssssss. Hisssssssssssss. Oh, come on! Apparently he noticed the problem, because his finger started creeping toward a nostril. I cut him off at the pass, and tilted his head back.
Not to be indiscreet, but his right nostril was at capacity. Ah, ha! Allergies. I grabbed a tissue, and peeked into his left nostril. There it was, big and green. Neon green. Neon? I looked more closely. Bright green, and very big. Wait… I pulled back.
‘Ian,’ I exclaimed, ‘you didn’t!’ Everyone quickly looked at me with puzzled glances. I ignored them; Ian was avoiding my eyes. ‘You did, didn’t you? Why did you do that!’
A very large, very green, very plastic bead. Wedged in my son’s left nostril.
Everyone thought I was joking at first. Ian held his head flat against the seat, chin tucked to his chest, his eyes looking wary. He knew I wasn’t joking.
We stopped at a grocery store for a pair of tweezers. Kelly came in after me, to buy cotton balls. She and her mother had done some quick calculations, and decided that the last time Ian had done any sort of craft involving a bead had been at least—at least— one week ago. That’s a long time to allow a bead to get settled in a three-year-old’s nose.
There can be few images more terrifying to a child than being strapped to a carseat with your father coming at you with tweezers on one side, and your mother with cotton balls on the other.
After much slimy wailing and gnashing of teeth, I extracted the offending bauble. Ian was not happy. Kelly and her mom each held one arm, while I tried to wedge his head against the seat. He just would not hold still. I don’t know if he was scared or in pain (or both); I’m just glad he still knows who I am.
After the fright came Ian’s embarrassment, and he started to cry. Poor kid. How long had he sat with that uncomfortable bit of plastic stuck in his nose? And why didn’t he tell us? Part of me thinks he knows just how stupid it was. Things like this don’t happen by accident.
Apart from being a boy, this was completely out of character for Ian. He just doesn’t put things…anywhere. He’s never chewed things, or played with electrical outlets. He doesn’t get feet or arms or legs stuck anywhere.
We hugged him, told him everything was okay, that it was over.
‘You don’t need to cry, kiddo. But at least now you can breathe if you do!’
So, now he knows. And, lest we forget, a boy is a boy, no matter how well he can sing the alphabet. Parents, remember this: when it comes to your son’s breathing problems, allergies may well be second on the list.
Relais-Pères is a new program of Canada’s Centraide (United Way) designed to ‘help vulnerable fathers with young children in four Montreal neighbourhoods.’
It’s difficult being a father, even if you’re happily married and gainfully employed. Relais-Pères helps men stay the course, recognize their significance as fathers, and to meet their obligations.
‘Two years ago, Nino Miguel Correia was a member of a street gang and expectant father on the verge of walking out on his pregnant girlfriend….
“I used to be part of Les Bo-Gars and the Italian Mafia,” the 23-year-old high school dropout said while playing in a park with his twin daughters. “I left that life behind when I had my girls.”
He credits Relais-Pères counsellor Jason Assio, whom he calls a second father, for giving him the support he needed to end his life of crime.’
The program has assisted over seventy families since it was started last year.
Relais-Pères apparently recognizes the importance of a father’s role in his children’s lives, but what caught my eye was an explanation from Isabelle Rivard, a coordinator of Relais-Pères counselors:
‘”It’s a matter of balance and having a foundation to build on to evolve in society,” Rivard said. “The baby is constantly with the mother at first.”
The father’s job is to break that isolation and help the child to learn to interact with society in general, she said.’
Fathers will reluctantly admit to feeling a sense of seperation from their newborn children, as if it’s unnatural, unhealthy, and a cause for concern. I think most men feel this way, to one degree or another; it’s obviously not unnatural. Seen in this light, it also makes perfect sense.
I like the idea of fathers being the initial icebreakers; the welcoming committees of one. Thus our awkwardness and isolation are no different than two friends meeting for the first time. An uncertain smile, a nod. Hi, nice to meet you.
We’re told that the bond between mother and child is instinctual, ingrained. But the majority of our children’s relationships will not be so. Relationships take time and fumbling and patience. We learn what to expect of ourselves and of each other.
And our children need to learn that they need to learn that. What a wonderful thing, to teach my son that he is not alone.
‘Last night my son curled up into the crook of my arm. I held him, feeling like the bed was a raft and we were just drifting along some dark river. In a flash I felt totally responsible for Liko and totally capable of caring for him, day or night, in a way that I hadn’t felt before.
That feeling of responsibility and capability gave me a concomitant feeling of confidence and power; not “power” in the sense of physical force or strength, but as in the ability to do what has to be done.
“Father” did not feel like a role that I was adopting, but like something intrinsic to my identity. It didn’t feel “like” anything, really; it was its own thing, my thing, like my arms or my legs.’
